


Receiving

by LeastExpected_Archivist



Series: Strength [3]
Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Drama, Interspecies, M/M, Multiple Partners
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2002-02-04
Updated: 2002-02-04
Packaged: 2021-03-04 22:27:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,752
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25123909
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LeastExpected_Archivist/pseuds/LeastExpected_Archivist
Summary: By DiamondAragorn takes Frodo to his room to discuss issues of comfort. Chapter 3 of the tale "Strength", first tale in the "Of Hobbits and Men" series.
Relationships: Aragorn | Estel/Frodo Baggins, Frodo Baggins/Sam Gamgee
Series: Strength [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1819915
Kudos: 4
Collections: Least Expected





	Receiving

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Amy Fortuna, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Least Expected](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Least_Expected), which has been offline since 2002. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in August 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on the [Least Expected collection profile](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/leastexpected/profile).
> 
> Disclaimer: These characters belong to Tolkien, not me. I do this for love, not money.  
> Notes: Thanks to Baranduin for her great beta reading!

Aragorn's chambers were much larger than those given to the hobbits--which made sense, as he had lived here for extended periods much of his life. Frodo noted with interest the mixture of styles of the room; both the swaying graceful lines of the elves in the design of the dresser and bed, but also hints of Man, of Nmenor and Gondor in an old sturdy chest of beechwood stained dark with the passage of years and a large comfortable chair by the window. There was a small oak table for taking private meals (perfect for tea, to Frodo's mind). Aragorn set down a fat cushion for Frodo on one high oak chair before seating himself across from him, keeping the barrier of the table between them. Frodo narrowed his eyes. Oh, this would never do.

He decided to remain standing, watching Aragorn eye him with mixed need and doubt, his hands on the table clenched together, his legs pressed together, trying to hide a rather unmistakable sign of his arousal . . . Frodo laid one hand very gently on his knee, and felt the Ranger jump.

"You don't want me?" Frodo asked in as mild a tone as he could manage, given that his pulse was racing and every part of him was tingling with expectation. He felt a muscle flex under his hand on the top of Aragorn's thigh, and felt his own erection pulse in response. Such wonderful strength in those long limbs. It was a heady experience just to rest his hand there.

"You're a hobbit," Aragorn whispered, putting one of his hands over Frodo's but not pushing away; almost it seemed he was trying to keep it there. Frodo took the hint, ignoring the Ranger's weak protest, and began to slide his hand up the thigh, gently rubbing and pressing. The Ranger drew in a shaky breath.

Frodo smiled as his hand neared its goal. "And you're a Man. Is this a problem?"

"The size--I don't want to hurt--" Aragorn all but groaned.

"I'm sure we can find a way to make it work." Frodo's hand had reached the hard length in Aragorn's hosen, and the Ranger moaned and sat back, spreading his legs as Frodo firmly rubbed up and down the length of him, his own member beginning to ache in return; he stepped into the space between Aragorn's legs to press himself up against the Ranger, all the while keeping his gaze firmly on Aragorn's face. Sam had complained that his gaze drove out any sensible thoughts. He would see if he had that effect on the Ranger as well.

Unfortunately the Ranger too had an intense gaze; it was several moments before Frodo could think of anything besides the warmth and admiration mirrored there and the desire that now burned fiercely. He blinked only when Aragorn moved his hands to encircle his waist--a thrill went through him that the large man could almost span the entire way around, squeezing and pulling him forward . . . Aragorn bent his head and melded his lips to Frodo's.

Groaning, Frodo reached up to cradle Aragorn's head in his small hands, sinking into the kiss, the bristle of Aragorn's beard tickling his cheek--so different. So enticing. Aragorn's lips were soft, hungry, his slick tongue seeking entrance . . . Frodo opened himself up to him, shivering with the pleasure of being taken so gently, so skillfully. His fingers curled in the Ranger's dark hair, pulling. Aragorn slid off the chair to kneel before him, his hands sliding down to stroke his legs, down to his calves, rubbing a very large erection against Frodo's thigh as his own member pulsated against the Ranger's hard belly . . .

Aragorn pulled away with a shuddering gasp. "I need this," he said in a choked voice. He bowed his head, cradling it against Frodo's shoulder and wrapped his arms around him, holding him in a desperate embrace, clutching. After a moment, he raised his head, again wavering, his face full of pain. "But I don't know if this is right."

Frodo stroked his chest, his own breath coming out in soft sobs, the tightness in his chest so great he could scarcely breathe. Aragorn's pain cried out to him and released his own. Images nearly overwhelmed him with a sense of failure for both of them--Merry, Pippin and Sam in the Barrow-wight's cave and him unable to help; the pale faces of the Nazgl; and Aragorn's stricken face when he found Frodo wounded . . . he suddenly grew aware of the Ring's presence around his neck, pulling his down. "I don't know either--only I know I need something. I'm so lonely . . . so are you, I think. Sam can't understand--the fight against the darkness, how it lures me. He hasn't fought evil, not like this. But you have. I need you. I need you to teach me how to fight despair." He pleaded with his eyes, with his hands. Aragorn closed his eyes, leaning in as Frodo began to unbutton his surcoat.

"I don't know how much I can teach . . ." Aragorn whispered. Frodo noticed he did not move to stop his undressing, his hands still wrapped tight around the hobbit.

"Only share your strength, then. Just for one night," Frodo whispered back. The surcoat was unbuttoned; he began to unlace the ties of the silk shirt underneath. The Ranger trembled at his touch and opened his eyes, soft and caring.

"You are so precious, Frodo. I want you."

Frodo coaxed Aragorn's arms from around him so that he could pull off the surcoat. "Then have me." He slipped the shirt over Aragorn's head and stepped into the warmth of his bare chest to coax his lips open with his own, tasting pipeweed, wine, and desire.

Aragorn groaned and lapped at him, each thrust of his tongue setting off a warm heat snaking down into Frodo's belly; his hands now furiously worked to release the small buttons of Frodo's weskit, pulling it off of him then pulling back to lift Frodo's shirt away from him. The movement sent the Ring back on its chain to fall down Frodo's back. Aragorn hardly gave it a glance, but paused at seeing the silk bandage over Frodo's left shoulder. "Does it pain you much?"

Oh no, he wasn't going to let the wound stop him, even if it did ache a bit. He removed the sling and the bandage to prove it was much healed. "Not terribly. Distraction will help I think." He winked. Then he too paused, for the first time actually _looking_ at the Ranger's bare upper body, at the soft patch of dark curly hair and the scars of many years . . .

A white jagged scar ran from the curve of one shoulder down the back about four inches--it must have been the swipe of a blade seeking to remove Aragorn's head from his shoulders. Several rough patches of skin--very old--ran along one side down to his hip--perhaps from dragging? Years of a hard life marked him; he was lean and sinewy. Frodo tried to calculate how much time Aragorn had spent in the wilderness often by himself, living off of stars above knew what, open to all the elements of sun and rain and ice. There was even a scar that reminded Frodo of his own wound under the rib cage on the right side--a stab wound, now long healed. Two other puncture wounds made little white stars above his left nipple; arrows, probably.

Frodo's hand drifted to his own new scar, red and livid . . . then he smiled. What was a scar? A triumph against death, against the enemy.

He bent to nuzzle Aragorn's chest and softly kiss the two scars by the nipple, then brushed his lips over the nipple itself and sucked, exulting in the way it hardened against his tongue. He nipped and tongued it alternately until Aragorn was gripping his shoulders and muttering, "Bed . . . to the bed."

Unlacing his breeches as he went, Frodo approached the bed--massive by hobbit standards, then frowned. There was no stepstool in this room to help him get up. He swallowed his pride and looked to Aragorn, but before he even asked, the Ranger had lifted him up gently and was stretching out beside him, his hands busily removing his hosen and then Frodo's breeches, the rough calluses brushing up and down the hobbit's torso and legs as if Aragorn couldn't get enough of the feel of him.

Frodo enjoyed his touch for a moment, before continuing his own explorations down Aragorn's back, the tightly muscled arse, around to the front and a dark patch of curls. His fingers found Aragorn, and his eyes soon followed--free of clothing, Aragorn's cock looked enormous, dark purple at the head, slowly leaking pre-cum. Frodo stroked it, his thumb and forefinger not quite able to touch, running up and down the length until the Ranger was thrusting his hips up at him. Frodo gulped. His mind balked at the thought to taking something that size . . .

"We will do only what you want to do." Aragorn must have noticed his goggling; feeling foolish, he looked back to Aragorn's face, concentrating on the feel of him--less frightening than the sight. Very soon, though, the Ranger was pulling his hand away to push Frodo flat against the bed, rising up over him and bending to suck first one nipple then the other, alternating back and forth even as his hand cupped and fondled him, back from the tender spot behind his balls up to the head of his cock; Frodo writhed under the attack, moaning. When Aragorn dipped his head lower to nip and tongue his navel, he thought he would go mad. When Aragorn reached his cock, all his movements abruptly stopped as he waited, poised as upon a spear point.

Aragorn took him in.

Frodo cried out, bucking, gripping the blankets as he was completely engulfed in wet heat; stars above, there was at least one advantage to their size difference! He tossed his head from side to side to keep from thrusting up as Aragorn moved his tongue around him, sucking in great long strokes that felt like they were going to pull his essence straight out from his toes . . . he shook his head at the ceiling. "No, no--not yet. My turn to give."

He certainly didn't have the strength to push Aragorn off, but the Ranger complied, lying back down next to him and drawing him in for another heated kiss. To concentrate on the Ranger's pleasure--that would be the best thing to make this last, Frodo decided, and went on his knees and his good arm to slide down the length of Aragorn's body, his smooth white skin in stark contrast to the rough bronzed hide of the Ranger, down to that mighty erection. There was no way he could take it all into his throat. Best to concentrate on the head; let his fingers do the rest of the work. Alternately sucking and licking, he wrapped one hand around and stroked evenly, while teasing his balls with feather light touches with his other hand. Aragorn groaned deep in his throat, letting him know he was growing close.

Perhaps it was only his movements; perhaps something more nefarious, but Frodo suddenly found the Ring had slipped from his back to his front again and now banged against the Ranger's thigh . . . the world seemed to suddenly tilt away and he was falling into darkness. A mist gathered before his gaze. He had to stop, fighting to gain control as a sudden desire most definitely not his own swept over him . . lure the Ranger to take the Ring . . .

Aragorn sat up, sensing his struggle. "Frodo, are you all right?" His touch on Frodo's cheek seemed to push back the black veil coming over his vision, return him to the warmth of the chamber and his physical body. He flung the Ring back around to fall behind him.

"I'm all right. We all have our wounds, right?" Even to his ears that sounded bitter.

"Do you want to continue?" Well that was interesting--he hadn't asked if they should stop. He nodded. The experience had dampened his ardor a little, but simply looking at the Ranger's lean form curled up over him was bringing him back to life. He suddenly wanted--needed--more.

"I don't know about any relationships you've had; whether with any males you might have . . ." Oh dear, this was so awkward to ask--how could he possibly make this request of the heir of kings? "I find myself suddenly longing to be in you." He flushed at his brazen request. Must be the Took in his line coming forward.

He was surprised when Aragorn suddenly kissed him, hard, passionately. "I would be most honored, Frodo. I shall take your strength on my journey as well; we shall both have need of it." He suddenly leaned far over to the small night table by the bed and took out a little jar. Frodo laughed at the smell as he uncorked it--chamomile oil, something he had used to bring down the swelling on his wound. Well, why not. It certainly smelled pleasant enough.

He allowed the Ranger to rub the oil on his member, sighing and closing his eyes at the gentle yet firm touch, then the Ranger lied down, and Frodo was struck by the utter trust, and yes--he never would have believed it--vulnerability. He was moved almost to tears, smiling, he blinked away sudden moisture from his eyes and knelt between Aragorn's legs to pour a little oil over him, trickling down to his rectum, then massaging it in, pressing inward. It gave easily to his index finger, showing him how much the Ranger wanted him, that he was this open, this relaxed. To the knuckle, then in, then a second, stretching him. It wasn't until the third that he managed to find the sweet spot; he was gratified by the deep sigh Aragorn let out; his only indication that he was indeed enjoying Frodo's ministrations.

Well, this shouldn't be hard at all. Rising over him and keeping his weight mostly on his right arm, Frodo positioned himself at the entrance, keeping his gaze firmly on Aragorn's eyes. Strong--so strong . . . he pushed in, gasping at the exquisite tightness, the heat. Oh, already the tension was gathering at the back of his spine--he bit his lip and concentrated on those eyes to keep himself from going over the brink, sinking all the way in. He hissed his pleasure as Aragorn moaned and brought his legs up to hold him in place. Pressed this way up against the Ranger's body, he could feel that enormous cock twitching.

When he was far enough back from the brink to trust himself, he began to move, gaining speed quickly--he just couldn't' hold back any longer. He wrapped his left hand around Aragorn's cock and despite any pain in his shoulder began to pump it as he rammed in full force, unafraid of hurting the Ranger; in fact, the harder he moved the better Aragorn seemed to like it, nodding and throwing his head back, gripping Frodo's dark curls in a vice hold and wrapping his legs around him.

"Yes, oh yes, Frodo, thank you---Ohhh!" He cried out and his whole body stiffened as he came in Frodo's hand and down their bellies; immediately afterwards Frodo trembled and thrust all the way in, his eyes rolling back as his own climax came with such force it was a wonder he remained conscious. After the stabbing pleasure began to recede and he began to shrink, he pulled out and collapsed on top of Aragorn, his curls now damp, trailing across the broad chest.

"Oh thank _you_ ," he murmured, burying his head into Aragorn's chest, finally able to acknowledge the love he felt for a true friend and leader.

Aragorn did not speak but held him close for many long moments, softly brushing through his curls with his fingers. Frodo closed his eyes and listened to the heart beat of the Man, slower and steadier than his own frenzied pace. Yes, he was understanding it now, how Aragorn faced things--patience, respect, acceptance. This was a better lesson than he had dreamed of it being. For perhaps the first time since his first glance of the Nazgul, he felt totally safe.

And strong.

* * *


End file.
